For Want of a Nail
by SomeDeadMan
Summary: Sometimes, brute strength alone cannot hold up to simmering, barely contained rage. Sometimes, even Mountains can fall to dwarves and vipers.
1. Tyrion

A/N: This idea came to me while I was in bed, trying to sleep. I own nothing, ASOIAF belongs to GRRM.

 **Tyrion**

Tyrion could not believe his eyes. The Viper was running rings around the Mountain, dodging this way and that. Every time Gregor brought his Greatsword to bear, Oberyn was already behind him, jabbing at his joints, his neck, the back of his legs... Slowly but surely, the Mountain began to tire.

"You raped her! You Murdered her! You killed her-"

Quicker than Tyrion would have thought possible, The mountain swung his sword around, catching Oberyn in the side. Blood began to flow, and the Viper's shout was cut off with an undignified yelp. The strike was off balance, and did not cleave Oberyn in two, as Gregor had no doubt intended. It had, however, broken most of his ribs, Tyrion could see that plainly. The Mountain tore his helm off, revealing a savage, brutal face, slick with sweat. He roared, a cry filled with rage and frustration.

"First, I killed her screaming whelp. _Then_ I raped her. _Then_ I smashed her fucking head in. Like this."

Ser Gregor never got the chance. As he lumbered towards his opponent, Oberyn threw his spear, the point reflecting sunlight as it made its journey, heading straight for The Mountain's unarmoured head. It buried itself in his eye, The Mountain screaming with fear and rage and pain and Gods know what else, before he collapsed to the dirt.

A hush fell over the court, the only sound being Oberyn's moans of pain. Finally, Tywin broke the silence. "Get him a Maester," he commanded, in an decidedly neutral tone. Odd. Tyrion had hoped that Tywin would be more angry. Cersei was angry, or she would be once she regained her senses. All the more reason to leave the city as soon as he could, Tyrion thought.

* * *

Tyrion opened the door to the Maester's chambers. Thankfully, Pycelle was nowhere to be seen; it seems that The Viper had thought to bring his own. Oberyn was in sorry shape; most of his ribs were broken, and he had a massive bruise that covered his left side. The cut was not as deep as one might think, but it was still very life threatening, to say nothing of infection. How Oberyn could speak, let alone jest, was beyond Tyrion.

"It seems I have to pass on that offer for a feast, My Lord. As it stands, I cannot hold much more than wine down."

"We need to leave, as soon as you are able. Cersei wants us dead."

"Cersei doesn't frighten me."

"Clearly, you do not know her as I do. With my bodyguard gone and you out of commission, all that stands between our deaths is me, and I am not what one would call a warrior."

He laughed at that, long and hard, although it clearly pained him to do so. Before long, he was out of breath, and it seems his wound had reopened, if the crimson stain on his bandages was any indication.

"You fought in the Battle of The Blackwater, did you not?"

"Aye, and it was a sight to see, me looking like a child in his father's armour, leading the vanguard of men twice my size."

"I'll take your word for it, Imp."

Tyrion bristled at that; and wondered why. He had been called much worse, one would think he would be used to it by now. He pushed the anger down, it would not help matters.

"Regardless, we are leaving King's Landing as soon as you are able to be moved. I imagine travelling by ship would be more comfortable for you, with your injuries."

"Need I remind you that I'm not finished here? I came here to avenge my sister-"

"And you did. The Mountain is slain, by your hand."

"The Mountain was just following orders! You and I both know who ordered Elia killed!"

"Yes, and I imagine confronting my father alone, unarmed, with a limp and 4 broken ribs will go poorly for you. If you and I stay here, we will _die._ If we leave, we can plot our revenge."

"What do you mean _we?"_

"You thought you were the only one who hates Tywin Lannister?"

A long silence followed, broken by Oberyn.

"You would plot against your own father?"

"He has it coming. Remind me to tell you of Tysha."

"Who?"

"My first wife." _A maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair._

Tyrion had had enough of Oberyn for the day. "I will ask the maester when you are fit to travel by boat. When you are able, you and I will board a small schooner in the docks. Tell no one of this."

"My Lord." He said it with sarcasm practically dripping from the words; The Viper was making it clear that he would not take orders from a Lannister, much less him.

Tyrion sighed and left, the door shutting behind him. He needed a drink.

* * *

A/N: I really had to hold back from putting an all Oberyn now pun in there.


	2. Cersei

A/N: I really suck at writing dialogue, and that's probably gonna show here.

 **Cersei**

To say that Cersei was angry would be an understatement. Cersei was _furious._ Ever since Tyrion had come to King's Landing; hells, ever since he was _born_ he'd been trouble but now he'd crossed the line. Her sweet Joffrey, willfull and strong and her _baby,_ killed by that damned Imp and his damned wife. And then, just when she was about to see her revenge, about to see that monster killed, the Viper offered to be his champion! She was close, _so close_ to seeing Tyrion dead, she could almost taste it, but now all she had was a dead son. So be it. Cersei would see that the Imp paid for this, one way or another...

* * *

"No."

"But, father-"

" _No,_ Cersei. Tyrion has been found innocent in the eyes of Gods and Men, and you will _not_ pursue any retribution," Tywin spoke, with his ever present scowl returning in full force.

"He killed him, father! Who else would have? Joffrey was loved-"

"That is where you err, sweet sister," Jaime replied, having just walked in.

"Ser Jaime. Who guards the king?" Tywin asked, as emotionless as ever.

"Ser Loras Tyrell and Ser Meryn Trant."

"Ser Loras? You sent " _Ser Loras_ to guard my sweet Tommen?"

"Ser Loras is twice the fighter Ser Meryn is." Jaime folded his arms.

"Ser Loras is a _Tyrell."_

 _"_ He was. When a man takes up the white, he renounces his family ties."

"In theory."

"Enough! Ser Jaime, why are you here?" Tywin growled, with a withering glare at the two of them.

"My lord, I needs speak with the queen," Jaime replied.

"Then do so. She has taken up too much of my time as is."

Cersei stormed out, Jaime following her as she went.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing. It isn't important."

"Nonsense. You were asking about Tyrion, weren't you?"

"What if I was?"

"Cersei, you must stop this foolishness with Tyrion. Lannister cannot fight Lannister."

"He killed my son! _Our_ son! Don't you care?"

"Quiet! Do you want the entire Red Keep to know?"

Cersei opened her mouth for a retort, thought better of it, and closed it. Jaime must be made to see that Tyrion was the killer.

"Jaime, The Imp was the one with a motive, not to mention the only one who was in position to kill Joffrey.

"Motive? Sweet Sister, half of King's Landing had motive, and who's to say a potboy wasn't paid to slip some poison in Joffrey's wine? This path will lead you to ruin, Cersei. But that's not what I came to speak with you about." Tommen is in line to be king, and he must be groomed. Tywin has already shown interest in the task, as has Mace Tyrell-"

"None of them! I am his mother!"

"Tommen doesn't need his mother to teach him to rule."

With that, Jaime walked off, leaving Cersei alone in the hall.

* * *

Tommen, being the king, and her son besides, wasn't hard to track down, and Cersei was able to corner him while he was breaking his fast.

Tommen?"

"Yes, mother?" The boy's voice was high pitched and full of youth, hardly what one would call regal, Cersei thought.

"You know what happened to Joffrey, do you?" Cersei asked, her face grim.

"Yes, mother, I do."

"I do not want that happening to you. Now, you know what happened to The Imp, don't you?"

"Uncle Tyrion? He was proven innocent."

"He was, by way of Trial by Combat. The thing is, dear Tommen, that that proves nothing."

"Why not?" Oh, Tommen, so young, and as of yet so naive about the world.

"All that the Imp proved was that he was able to hire the more skilled warrior, Tommen."

Tommen's face was scrunched up in concentration, his eyes squeezed shut.

"So...you think that Uncle Tyrion killed Joffrey. Why?"

"Tommen, The Imp is a monster. He killed Joffrey, and he'll do the same for you, if you give him half a chance."

"Why would he do that?" The boy's eyes were wide as saucers, and his voice cracked mid sentence.

"He wants me to suffer, and to do that he'll kill you."

"What do I do?"

"Keep an eye on him, for now. Send a man to accompany him, watch his every move, and report back to you."

"Are you sure, mother?"

Yes, sweetling. The Imp would kill you in a heartbeat, just to get at me. I swear, I'll never let that happen, not so long as I draw breath.

"Yes, Tommen. I'm sure," Cersei said, with an air of finality.

* * *

Cersei could scarcely conceal her grin; her plan was coming together, and all it took was a few choice words in Tommen's ears. As soon as she was safe in her chambers, Cersei began to laugh. Before too long she was on the bed, still giggling. It was all too perfect. Soon, she would have The Imp pay for his crimes...


	3. Oberyn

A/N: Writing dialogue heavy scenes has never been my strong suit, so bear with me on this. Any feedback is appreciated, whether you're praising my godlike writing, or (more likely) sending me death threats on account of my horrible writing.

 **Oberyn**

The Imp was talking again, and it was beginning to piss Oberyn off.

It was bad enough that he had to lie here in pain, with nothing but wine to take the edge off, but to listen to the Maester's prattling _and_ The Imp? That was just cruel.

"So, there's been a small snag, as it happens. The King has seen fit to assign someone to tail me, and report back. If he should see me leaving on a ship bound for Dorne, well..."

"So, why not just kill him?"

The Imp frowned at that, and shook his head. "Are all Dornishmen as brainless as you are?" He questioned. "No, if I have him killed, that would make me subject to even more scrutiny. Perhaps Varys could assist me, but I have no doubt that it will be costly for me."

"Then pay. You Lannisters shit gold, I have heard."

"Not money, favors." Tyrion replied. "And as it is, I have no influence. My sweet sister has seen to that."

Oberyn groaned inwardly, at this rate, he would never get out of this fucking city.

"So," The Imp continued, "I must rely on _you._ "

"Me? What do you need me for?"

"You're the prince of Dorne. I'm a half a man accused of regicide. Who do you think that Varys will find more useful?"

Try as he might, Oberyn could not find a reason to disagree with The Imp.

"Very well, when shall we meet?"

"On the morrow, as soon as you shake off that wine. I need you sober for this."

If Oberyn was able to walk, or not drugged with the milk of the poppy, he might have raised an argument. As it was, he just wanted The Imp to leave. So, he agreed to The Imp's terms, and as soon as the door closed, he tried to catch up on his sleep.

* * *

The minute Oberyn woke up he could tell that the day was going to be miserable. His hangover was bad, and when crossed with the pain from his ribs... he groaned just thinking about moving.

Then, Tyrion walked in.

"-And this is Prince Oberyn Martell. As I'm sure you are aware, he has suffered a wound in the duel against Ser Gregor, and has been incapacitated since."

"My Lord," the Eunuch said, his arm outstretched.

Oberyn took the hand with as much vigor as he could in his current state, and shook it.

"Lord Varys, I presume? Shall we get down to business?"

"Certainly, My lord." The eunuch had a guarded face, one that revealed nothing, and it seemed to Oberyn that when he smiled, he always did so for a reason.

Regardless, Oberyn pressed on. "I was informed that you had a way to help us, and that you had a price." Best keep it short and to the point, Oberyn thought. The two of them were doubtless more skilled in wordplay than he, and the longer he spoke, the better the odds of him letting something slip.

"You heard correctly, and I am certain that you will find my request reasonable," Varys said, offering one of his fake, sweet half smiles as he did so.

"When you reach your brother, I bid you to tell him that the preparations on my end are nearly complete, and to prepare his own forces as soon as he could."

"Do this, and I will be able to keep the queen from, ah, _meddling_ in your affairs," said, Varys, his smile getting larger by the second.

"This sounds important. Why would you trust me, and The Imp, with a message like this?"

Vary's smile was wiped off his face in an instant. "If you think that I trust either of you, My Lord, than you must be a very foolish man."

With that, Varys strode out of the room.

"Well," Tyrion said, pouring wine for himself, "any idea what _that_ was about?"


	4. Bodyguard

A/N: Christ, talk about being late. I'm really sorry about the schedule, or lack thereof.

 **The "Bodyguard"**

Drevyn Fisher was not a happy man. Ever since he had been assigned to the "honor" of escorting the Imp to Dorne, it seemed that his life had taken a definite turn for the worse. First, just the idea of sailing to Dorne, _Dorne,_ of all places, filled him with dread. While he was by no means a Northerner, he hated the heat, and he spent many nights awake thinking how he could weasel his way out of his new assignment. Then, to make matters worse, The Spider, yes, the fucking Spider, practically blackmails him into becoming an informant. Perfect. Just perfect.

Drevyn was walking a razor's edge and he knew it. Lean towards one side, and his secret gets out; make his true allegiance too obvious, and he gets a year in the dungeons of the Red Keep, or worse.

This and more went through the hapless bodyguard turned informant's head as he heaved up his insides over the side of the ship. He had wandered out of his cabin to get a breath of air, and somehow it had degenerated into him retching his lungs up. He supposed he should take comfort in the fact that they were nearly there, but then, just the thought of two more days on this fucking ship made him sick all over again. As far as the Imp went, he was surprisingly noncommittal towards the bodyguard. When he made his introductions, Tyrion seemed like he expected him. Indeed, it seemed like The Spider and the Imp were on the same side, for now, or at the least, keeping each other informed. All this mattered little to Drevyn; his goal for the week was to not be killed by an enraged Dornishman.

Drevyn threw down his hand in anger. That was three in a row, and most of his money, besides. He was fairly sure the Dornishman across from him was cheating, but he had two friends by his side, so all he could do was suck it up, or leave. He opted for the former, knowing that if he left he would just sulk in his lodgings. As he was dealt a fourth hand, however, he was interrupted by the Imp's sellsword.

"Lord Tyrion has need of you," he said, his hand on Drevyn's shoulder. Drevyn liked the man, for a sellsword. He was a good drinking partner, if a complete arse otherwise. Throwing down his hand and bidding the three Dornishmen a farewell, Devan rose from the table and began to make his way to the Imp's quarters.

As he opened the door, he saw the Imp waiting for him.

"Ah, Ser Devan, please, have a seat." He said, gesturing to the chair opposite him.

Not really seeing a choice in the matter, Devan sat. "You called for me, my lord?" He asked.

"Yes, I did. As it happens, I know why you are here."

 _Well, shit._

"It was not difficult to guess, you know," the Imp continued, as if reading his mind. "I am not completely without allies, even here."

"And so, we come to the question of what to do with you."

"You're not going to kill me, are you?" Drevyn asked, not wanting to ask but needing to know.

"No, I'm not going to kill you. If you were to die, that would visit suspicion on me, and rightly so, if I were that unsubtle," the Imp replied. Now that you know why you're here, and you know that I know, why don't you go and write a letter to my sweet sister. I trust you would not put anything dangerous in it, would you?"

"Now Drevyn was beginning to see the game taking shape, and he was beginning to fear that he was ending up as just another pawn.

"Of course, my lord," Drevyn said. What else could be said? Refuse, and he was a dead man, and this way he would live longer, if little else.

Oh yes, this week was turning out to be fucking _lovely._

* * *

As far as pay went, the Imp told Drevyn that he could be counted on to "reimburse" him for his lies. At least he'd spend his last days drunk, Drevyn thought, immediately reprimanding himself for thinking so negatively. He could likely last a week or two, at least. If nothing else, now that his "duties" for the day were discharged, Drevyn planned to hole up in his bunk with a bottle of the cheapest liquor, as well as the cheapest woman, he could find, and try his best to forget that he'd likely be dead in a month.

Of course, the Imp apparently didn't care much for his plans.

"You want me to _what?"_

"Oh, relax. You act as if I'm sending you to your death."

"You're sending me to kidnap the princess!"

The Imp didn't seem to see that as much of a cause for concern. "I assure you that you'll be fine. My man Bronn will be with you."

That revelation didn't exactly fill Drevyn with confidence.

"I understand that this is not what you signed on for, but that makes it no less important. Name your price, and I'll do my best to answer it."

His price? A lordship and a seat on the royal court was the first thought that came to Drevyn's mind, but he gave it a second thought. From what he could see of King's Landing (which, admittedly, wasn't much,) A job in the court was a cutthroat position, often literally. The last thing he needed was to be impaled on an assassin's blade in the middle of the night because Lord Chucklefuck or whoever decided he wasn't useful enough anymore. With that in mind, he told the Imp that he would be happy with a lordship and some land.

"And you'll have it," he replied, as soon as the job is done."

Drevyn tried not to get his hopes up. If he survived this, then he could live happily for the rest of his days in a proper lord's castle, maybe take a woman to wed, and drink all he could ever want.

Of course, that was a very big if.


End file.
